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I kept my head down a bit, shifty-eyed as
I passed through the office door. I don't
like these places much, usually they cause
me some pain both physically and financially,
but I was determined to go through with it at
all costs. Today was the day and tonight I was
going to put pen to paper about the event,
successful of not. Let the Devil take the
hindmost as some say, it had to be tried and I,
J Castwell was just the guy to do it. Here and
now it will be done.
I glanced first right, then left, then up over
the counter where the sharp-eyed receptionist
might be lurking, then nonchalantly laid the
magazine along with those on the little table.
You know the titles, Readers Digest,
(large print edition), Arizona Highways,
Ladies 'something or other,' People
and some other worthless excuses for magazines
of today's society. None were from this year and
most about as interesting as looking at the pictures
of your cousins new baby.
I had pulled it off though. She 'from behind the
counter' had not seen me come in as she was busied
neck-holding a phone and re-booting her computer.
I had dropped it among the others and she had not
seen me. Yes, my friend, I had successfully
integrated a used, but most current edition of,
one of the fly-fishing magazines I get each month.
Live dangerously is my motto and I had just done
so. I had not removed my name from the mailing
sticker on the cover. How about that for intestinal
fortitude. Now when the next poor victim, oops,
make that patient, has to sit for interminable
hours in that smartly tailored chamber of horrors,
he will have some solace in the pages I have left
for his momentary grip on sanity and reality.
This will become a campaign of mine. Less of
stabbing my lance at wind machines and more of
'seeding' offices and waiting rooms with my
left over and recently read magazines. I have
in the past left a few copies with a tire dealer
buddy of mine but I think he feels I am using him
instead of the local recycling company to save
myself a few bucks. For a while I have not left
him any. His glassy stare and raised eyebrow were
my last outwards resemblances of gratitude along
with a barely audible grunt of, "um, oh ya, more
huh? Thanks."
I eased myself into one of the office furniture
type of office chairs and as I awaited my turn,
I mused over the possibilities that may lay ahead.
The various places I could leave these things.
You name it, they all could use a copy of
something of real value, namely a fly-fishing
magazine. The butcher, the baker, the
candlestick-maker. Why, the whole world was my
oyster and I had just found the pearl, lots of
them and I will spend my remaining days dispensing
them as I travel about. I may become famous, like
Johnny Appleseed, who went about the mid-west
planting apple seeds along the high-ways and
by-ways for years.
"Magazine Castwell," I can hear it now. Famous,
I tell you, famous. And who among us does not
want fame, even if in small doses? Surely you do?
At least in your home town? Well now, my friend,
here is the secret. Our secret. Together, you and
I, we shall take over and convert the world. No
more spinning rods, no more bait, no more C4. Just
wonderful fly-fishing.
Here is how we shall do it. From this day hence,
you and I, we shall form a pact, a group, a clique,
a gang. We shall, at every possible turn of events,
covertly leave our leftovers on the unsuspecting
public. Look at the money alone saved on recycling
fees. We may get rich and famous. How about that?
So let's do it. Save them up, sneak them into the
car, hand them out. The publishers may send us
extras, free ones even. Perfect. We shall convert
the world, one crummy waiting room at time. Just
think, Saint Castwell! WOW.
I looked up as the office door swung open and
she said, "Mr. Castwell? The Doctor will see
you now. Hmm, I wonder who left this thing in
here?" ~ JC
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